


Part 3 – Mending Fences

by Nesrie, Paladin (Nesrie)



Series: Home [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Humiliation, M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-02-09 09:36:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18635518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nesrie/pseuds/Nesrie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nesrie/pseuds/Paladin
Summary: The boys are testing their budding intimate relationship. The thing is, John keeps pushing, just a little, but he's not always ready for when Arthur pushes back.





	1. Chapter 1 – The Right Tools

A few days after returning from town, the weather turned again. Rain accompanied the cooler air even more and the land around them became wet and muddy. Arthur took his horse into the small stables each night, carefully calming the animal down each time as the green broke mount disliked the closed walls immensely. Sometimes John would watch, just lean against a reinforced beam at the entrance and watch the larger man smooth talk the Thoroughbred to calmness and acceptance. Few people ever accused the man of having a way with people. Sure he defused some fights and arguments but probably entered just as many. The way he worked with animals though, it was something else. And on rare occasions, Arthur might look up while petting the horse’s face and see him, and the light eyes might even flicker to the empty and not yet used stall but of course he always declined John’s silent offer to try it out. Now the mere presence of an easily startled horse denied him proper sex. John threw a curse at the black steed, more than once, for that. It didn’t help their relationship none, but he figured he wasn’t about to ride him any time soon anyway.

When the sun showed up with a last gasp before the impending arrival of more cold and snow, Arthur and John took it as an opportunity to try and fix a few of the fences. They’d already expanded the smaller wooden fences and drainage ditch around the household garden, hoping they might keep the soil dry enough so the garlic, onions, whatever the heck a shallot was and some beans might grow. The man at the store said they could grow some carrots too but damned if he had enough of wild carrots that he wanted to grow even more right outside his front door. 

Today they worked together on the wired fence, something that kept the cattle in. He had a buyer coming by next week and learned the hard way how easy men and beast picked off free roam cattle. Other ranchers, when they weren’t entirely rude and obnoxious about it, warned him about early losses when he didn’t have enough cattle to breed and cover any weak or young picked off as easy targets. He didn’t really have enough cattle and feed to hold over winter, so he planned to store the money and buy the herd anew next year. They’d been at it for hours, and John considered this just west of torture. The barbs cut right through his gloves again, and John swore up a storm causing Arthur to look from his post and wire and frown at him. “John?”

“It’s nothing.” John lied, wanting to avoid what would come next if Arthur actually came over and tried to help him.

The older man chewed his bottom lip, finished tightening a wire and of course walked over to John. “Let me see your hands.”

“Arthur.” John replied with the rejection he knew sounded akin to Jack refusing to let his mother wash behind his ears. “I don’t need your help.”

“Let me see your hands.” Arthur repeated, as if he hadn’t heard him.

John knew better. Sometimes when Arthur repeated himself like this, the next response was a lot less fun than a simple argument about words. He probably learned that from Dutch although Hosea had a mean belt once in a while if John pushed him too far. If Hosea got involved in punishment it usually meant he deserved it pretty good too. If Arthur experienced the same, well he never saw it. “Arthur…” He decided to test the field just a bit.

Arthur locked gazes with him and didn’t say a word.

After weighing possible outcomes, some of which involved a good box to the ear, a complete abandonment of the chore or worse yet, one of those times when Arthur might just turn and leave for hours going who knew where doing who knew what, John offered him his hands.

Beautiful light eyes dropped to John’s torn gloves as the man removed his thicker gloves; then, ever so carefully, Arthur worked the thin leather off each of John’s hands, set them on his shoulder and examined the tiny, deep or occasional gauges of skin. The man opened his satchel, pulled some clean cloth and a flask. “This is going to hurt.” He didn’t wait for a response and just poured that alcohol right over John’s open wounds and then applied the cloth.

John hissed but kept his hands steady, pride more than anything else preventing him from crying out or allowing his eyes to do anything but glisten at the sting. He’d had wolves practically rip him apart, he should be able to tolerate a bit of cleaning.

“These aren’t the gloves Abigail traded for a few weeks ago John. Where are your good ones?”

He kicked his feet briefly which made his hand shake, but Arthur remained patient, the coarse fingers wrapping his hands with that cloth, patient and gentle like. “Well I…” John sighed. 

Arthur glanced up from his work. “Lost them?”

“Not lost, not really. I did, well I did what you both told me not to do.” There, he admitted it.

“You carried them around with you when you didn’t need them, set them down and forgot where you put them.”

“Yeah.”

“Where did you put them last?”

“You know Arthur, I didn’t like that stupid ass question when I was a kid, and I don’t like it now. If I knew where I put them last, I would have them now wouldn’t I?”

A slight smirk told John Arthur teased him, just a little though. After Arthur put the gloves back on, the man stepped back and scanned the fence. They’d already repaired the actual holes earlier so the next suggestion didn’t really surprise him. “Why don’t you go rest over by that tree, and I’ll finish up.”

It wasn’t a question. Even though Arthur sometimes said things that sounded like a question or maybe should be a question, he habitually issued orders discreetly like that. “Well that doesn’t seem right. I can’t just sit around and watch you work like that.”

“If you keep working your hands while they’re like that, you’re going to damage them. You’ll be useless for days even weeks instead of just a few John.”

“It’s not right Arthur.”

“You’re being a dumbass John.” Arthur retorted this time with a little more kick to it. 

John raised his chin. “It doesn’t seem right.”

“If this is my home too, then I don’t see any harm with me finishing up here. We did most the work already.”

If? No, no John couldn’t allow that. His voice softened. “It’s not if Arthur. You know that… right?”

Arthur stepped forward and lifted his hand to John’s cheek. He leaned forward, pursuing a gentle and light kiss which John readily accepted. “I see no reason why a man can’t work a fence at his home, alone, do you John?”

John felt warmth claim his cheeks. He finally shook his head. “No, no reason. All right fine then. Just don’t overdo it.”

“You fuss over me like a fawn. Go over there to that tree and rest- up. I won’t be too long.”

He complied of course, not really able to counter anything at this point. For a little bit he watched, but eventually John just covered his face with his hat and took a nap, the ache of his bandaged hands nearly forgotten.

Although John didn’t really intend to sleep that long and knew if he did Arthur would just keep going, bothering with each section of the fence just to be sure, he did wind up sleeping at least an hour or two and waking to what sounded like a gun shot. Instincts kicked in and he quickly took cover behind the tree, scanning the horizon for Arthur and trying to pinpoint the direction of that sound. He didn’t have to look long though because the big man came out from a nearby tree area with a big fat duck slung over his shoulder. He seemed amused with John’s wary glances. “Once you find a shadow worthy of dueling you think you can manage to pluck and cook this?”

John holstered his weapon and offered his hand. “I thought you preferred a bow with those. You want me to cook it?”

Arthur gave him the bird and nodded. “I didn’t bring it with me for fence mending. It’s a straggler, still pretty plump though.” He glanced down briefly. “It taste better when you do it.”

Yes! John beamed. Oh he already knew Arthur felt that way. It was obvious whenever he came home with pheasant or duck or goose, even a turkey because he usually kept it out of sight of Abigail until John made an appearance and handed them right to him. Having the man admit it though, with words, well it made his heart soar. “Seasoning, a good amount and watching it. Abigail says she doesn’t have time to keep checking a dead animal in the oven when there’s sewing and cleaning and children rearing to do. It’s why it’s all shriveled up when she’s done.”

“Sometimes black.”

“Yeah, yeah that too.”

“You ever think of having her learn from someone or maybe getting a book?”

John walked with Arthur towards the two Morgans. “Why don’t you just hand her a knife and tell her to cut my nuts off Arthur. I don’t see how that conversation is going to go anywhere but south.”

“You really think it would be that bad?”

John rolled his eyes. “She doesn’t read that well and having her cooped up with some homemaker. Arthur she was a whore and then a woman in an outlaw camp. The last thing I want is dealing with an unhappy couple after one or both of them finds out the kind of things Abigail knows and says.”

“Maybe, maybe you shouldn’t keep using that word.”

John fastened the bird to his saddle. “What word? Whore?”

“Yeah John. That one.” Arthur sounded a little annoyed.

“Well I don’t go around in town telling everyone that or just anyone I meet. But you’re you.”

“You say it around Jack too.”

John faced Arthur with a frown. “I ain’t going to raise a kid on lies and avoiding the truth. He should know where he came from even if I don’t want him going into that kind of life. Abigail is what she is. I am what I am too. He’s not an idiot. He won’t go around bragging about these things. He has hardened parents. He can know that.”

Arthur mounted the animal and waited for John to do the same. They headed back to the homestead, but John wasn’t surprised to hear his companion’s question asked minutes later. “What do you tell him about me?”

“Mostly what he already knows.” John glanced at him. “I’m in love with you. You’re his uncle. You’re a killer that would end anyone that tried to hurt him. That you’re rough around others sometimes because you don’t know another way to be.”

“Do you tell him I murdered folks, that I was a wanted man?”

“Do you want me to?”

Arthur’s eyes focused on the flicking ears of his horse, trusting the animal to know the way. It occurred to John that his brother might not actually know how he wanted to answer that question. 

“Jack knows a few things already Arthur. Sometimes he asks broad questions and sometimes very specific ones. I just, just tell him. I ain’t a good liar anyhow. There’s a reason Hosea liked to take you on cons more often than he did me.”

Arthur snorted. “He took me to those because I listened to what he said to do and you didn’t. He never trusted me to put up much of an act.” He gave the horse a good firm pat on the neck. “Has he ever asked if I was a good man?”

“No, but if he did I’d tell him you’re a good man to us, to your family, and a better man than you ever give yourself credit for.”

A light smile formed. John felt like he might have given a good answer as a result. Dumb enough to lose his gloves and cut up his hands but obviously not so dumb to ruin this hard conversation. “It will take a while to pluck this and bleed it. If you want to go the stream to draw or rest up you can. We’ll eat later tonight. They won’t mind though, be happy with duck instead of beef tonight.”

“Nah. That area got pretty wet since the last time I was there. I will use some oil and do my journal in my, my room. Abigail said we have candles. Maybe I should…”

“We do.” John cut him off. “The oil lamps are better, but we have the candles around the house just in case. We can switch to those if we run low. I’ve got more than enough oil to keep your lamp burning Arthur.”

Arthur wanted to argue the point. John noticed the tension build up in the man’s back and arms, but Arthur eventually settled again as the building came into sight. Maybe his lover realized he’d won enough arguments for today, and this just wasn’t worth the effort. Maybe.

Once they settled the horses in for the night, John went about plucking and prepping the carcass while Arthur tended to the chores. He saw horse shit in the other stalls and took care of that too, but John made a mental note to give Jack a good what for for not doing that chore earlier. He knew old when he saw it even if Arthur took care of such things without complaint. 

Since their time in town, Arthur opened up a bit more, even managed to find time to sit at the table when there wasn’t a meal to sip coffee or drink and just watch the rest of them go about their business. Jack certainly wasn’t afraid of Arthur, no matter what he knew and asked the man to help read his comics or some old book they managed to get. One time Arthur even invited John to join him down at the stream where he quickly found out that Arthur mostly found a tree to draw or do nothing for a few hours there, nothing incredibly secretive at all. Sure he claimed nothing meant relaxing, taking in the scenery or what not, but John found that worthwhile for about five minutes before he got bored enough to just walk the bank for some time. Since he knew the man didn’t mind mud or rain too much, John wasn’t sure his decision to journal inside tonight was really a rejection of the weather or more a desire to just spend more time around them. He’d accepted either reason but hoped it was to be with them.

The duck was delicious with a crisp skin, fat juices covering the meat and enough seasoning where Abigail might complain a little but Jack and Arthur liked it that way. He usually found a piece that sort of sat in the juices in the pan so the salt wasn’t too bad on that anyway. His wife didn’t even make a comment about his bandaged hands. John wasn’t sure but he thought, maybe, just maybe she did look at them once, look at Arthur and the man tried to discreetly shake his head, as if telling her not to bother, he already had. If the two of them wound up working together, that might make things more difficult for John around here but it also meant, well the bond there grew too which is what he wanted more than a few days of no nagging.

After everything was cleaned up, Jack read his comic for the night and everyone managed to get tucked in, John silently left his bed with just a gentle kiss to Abigail before he stealthily made his way down the hall, bare feet making one board creak as he entered Arthur’s room. He hoped to ease Arthur into more intimate moments in the house and certainly make use of their stall which he even spruced up with more blankets, an old pillow Abigail didn’t want any more and replaced the beers Arthur might take once in a while. But tonight wasn’t about that, even if John really wanted more. No tonight was a chance to surprise the man, show him he listened too and hopefully not get shot in the process. It was never wise to sneak up on Arthur Morgan. John did it too often as boy, and never got hurt doing it despite Dutch and Hosea warning against it. It was almost as much of a game as a curiosity. How did Arthur always know it was him and not blow his damn head off?

John lifted the heavy fur and blankets, pressed his knee against the slim but still comfortable bedding. He saw Arthur stiffen immediately, recognized the uneven breathing of a man still awake, but he didn’t hear the click of a gun or see Arthur even turn to face him. Maybe he expected John to push for something even though it was clear Arthur didn’t want to do that here. A part of him remained curious how far Arthur might let him go if he ignored that request but not tonight. Instead he decided to just go for it, see if he might be punished for a perceived unwanted advance or just have Arthur uneventfully accept his presence in the man’s bed.

Neither happened, and it surprised him.

Something about what he did, maybe it was the way he ran his hand along Arthur’s back and side or how he didn’t say anything at all, made it clear to Arthur he didn’t come into the room expecting or demanding sex. Maybe it was the way John scooted in closer when Arthur shifted to his side, or how he placed a hand against the man’s hip and realized Arthur didn’t really have night clothing as his fingers ran over the harsh fabric of his jeans. Sure the big man changed clothing now and then, especially getting ready for a con or trying to lie low and not be easily recognized, but he’d never seen his brother sleep in anything but what he’d wear the next day. Abigail wouldn’t know much about this and probably assumed her idiot husband actually spent more time thinking about something so basic. Instead of clothes for a simple night out on the town, maybe not to be used again any time soon, he’d go order Arthur something to sleep in. Damn it. But his mind didn’t dwell on this too long. Once it became clear John came to Arthur’s bed to do as the man said he wanted, what he needed, Arthur did something he only had vague memories of seeing him do when he was small, Arthur turned towards him, placed his forehead against John’s shoulder and quietly sobbed. 

Oh it wasn’t obvious at first. Arthur’s large shoulders shook briefly, his breathing became a little unsteady and that was about it for a short time. John felt, well he felt awkward, like maybe he wasn’t lying right in a small bed that clearly could take two men but wasn’t meant for it. Then he heard that sound, the soft quavering exhale followed by what could almost be called a whimper. So he did what he did with Jack, what he did with Abigail and what Arthur did with him when he was younger, he drew his companion closer to him, tucked his head under John’s chin and just held him tight. That’s when he knew even though Arthur told him what he needed in a moment of quiet, in a moment of what their departed gang might have called weakness, he didn’t really expect to get it. Why would he?

Before reading the journal, John didn’t think too hard about what Arthur did every day. He often left hours before John even woke up and was gone for nearly the entire day, if he came home at all. And sure, when he came home, especially after days of being away, most would ask him how he was doing. He might even rib a few on his way to his tent to stimulate brief conversations before settling on his cot, or arranging a few extra things he brought back with him. Before that, always to the contribution tin to drop whatever he had to over, watches, belts, money or sometimes something unusual like a new pipe for someone or pen. He often returned with a kill and pelts too, but short of someone making a comment about blood he had on himself, about the carcass he carried or just admiring the money he gave, not a whole lot else. John even remembered the time when Arthur was gone for a good three or four days and came back with forty dollars. Dutch looked so disappointed, and it didn’t help that Micah or maybe it was Javier came back with a few hundred.

John wondered if those days had more stories to them, stories not even written in the journal. Saving a man from a cougar, no doubt a risk for Arthur too, working his way through the camps of other gangs like some townsfolk talked about. Oh John ran into a few of those nasty fellas more than a few times himself, but they weren’t gunning for him like they were Arthur. Those no-good bastards had it in for Arthur, which Colm proved well enough for all of them, but there were days when John didn’t see them, not in their usual spots and not harassing the roads either.

He wished he understood better, what this meant to Arthur; he was afraid to ask. Neither one of them was especially good with words. It felt like a risky way to spook away someone who’d worked hard just to get to this point, so John just held him all night long. When the sun rose the next morning, John stayed too, and not because he didn’t see or feel the sun. He woke naturally just fine these days, like he was used to it, but he wanted to be there when Arthur woke up, wanting to kiss him and say good morning.

And he did all those things when Arthur finally opened his eyes and found John still lying there next to him.


	2. Chapter 2 - Contribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are a couple of things our boys need to iron out about their new living arrangement, and of course John doesn't approach it quite the right way. After all, Arthur is sensitive about some things, but he isn't very good with telling anyone about it.

John sighed heavily, leaning against the wall in the hallway, his hat only partially covering his eyes. After all the fighting with Abigail, most would think he’d be used to this by now, but he wasn’t. The fact he was in a heated argument with Arthur didn’t really make it much different either. He just wanted to give the man a measly ten dollars. 

Arthur wouldn’t take the money. “I contribute to our, our home. I don’t take from it. You damn well know that John.”

“Arthur, you are contributing a lot. I ain’t Dutch. There a few days I wish I had his ability to visualize things, plan even a little in advance, but Arthur most days I sure as hell do not. I don’t want you to treat me like I’m him, or give to me like I’m him, and just…” John tried to keep his voice down in case Abigail and Jack lurked nearby, too afraid to enter with all the yelling. With a raspy kind of airy voice he sort of had to raise his volume pretty well and good to dominate the entire space but Arthur… the man’s booming voice carried like a gunshot in an empty cave. 

Arthur shook his head in his frustration. “I know that John. I don’t know why you keep telling me that.”

“Because you keep acting like it, trying to do more than you should, running around with less than two dollars in your pocket, not asking to change anything or trying to get your stuff back.”

“Stuff?” Arthur looked confused.

“Your guns. You probably had a whole arsenal to pick from and now you have a couple of low-grade pistols and a rifle. I just…” John held out the ten dollars again. “Arthur you earned this. I would give you more if we had more to give for this, and I will give more later, but I don’t want you ever wandering around here stuck because you can’t go to town or getting nothing for yourself because I haven’t given it to you. I’m not, not Dutch.” He didn’t mean to sound as desperate as he came off, but there it was, and maybe Arthur would punish him for it too.

Silence lingered for a little bit but Arthur’s gruff voice broke it. “I can’t accept what I didn’t take or earn myself. I’ll get some when we sell the horse.”

“Then why’d you take the bed? Why’d you have dinner with me, rest in the stall I built. Arthur…” John didn’t get to finish because Arthur turned and walked away, right out the door without a word. That’s when John realized he’d really just fucked it up, him and his big mouth.

Arthur didn’t come in the house for lunch or dinner later that day, and John didn’t see him around at all, so John’s family minus an important member ate mostly in silence. When Jack asked to play for a little while afterward and wondered if he might get a book reading from John, Abigail shooed him away from the table and told him to play like he asked in his room; she’d be nearby to hear Jack read later.

“I don’t know why he asks me to read to him. He can almost read better than I can already.”

“It’s just something he likes John. Why have you been cowering near the house all day? It’s not like you to be stuck inside when it’s not raining or anything. Where’s Arthur?”

John lifted his cup of coffee to his mouth, toying with the bitter taste more than he drank it. He didn’t understand the big deal about his coffee. It was just strong is all, and sometimes a little gritty. “We fought again today.”

“And?”

“And I said something I really shouldn’t have, like really bad. He won’t take what I give him, like nothing. He thinks he has to earn it himself and contribute like he had to at camp. I pointed out I already gave him things and…”

Abigail placed a hand on his shoulder. “And you thought pointing out you’d given him a lot already would somehow help you win that argument?”

John lowered his head. “It was a dumb idea.”

“It was.” He really didn’t need her to agree with what he already knew. Of course his woman seemed to like to dig into those sort of things with this crazy idea he might do it less often later. Her plan never worked.

“Whelp you better get your bags, and I’ll pack you a meal so you can go find him. Should’ve gone looking hours ago John.”

John sighed and stood, abandoning the rest of his bitter and gritty coffee. “He’s Arthur Morgan Abigail. If he doesn’t want to be found, you send someone like Charles or maybe, maybe someone like Trelawny; that weasel often seemed to find us easily enough. I assume he has some sort of skill in… something.” He mostly muttered that last part.

Abigail set her chin, and he knew if he didn’t get ready to go right this minute he’d wind up with two angry and vengeful lovers against him. Jack wasn’t old enough to help defend him in these sort of situations, not yet anyway. Sheepishly he moved to the coat hook and grabbed his jacket. “Fine, fine but I don’t need you packing a meal. I got along just fine without that for years.”

“And you were about twenty pounds lighter too!” She called out to him as he closed the door behind him.

Grumbling John headed towards the stable, shuffling his feet again. The truth was, he was not a great tracker because he didn’t have the patience or mind for it. Sure he could track horse prints in wet earth or snow easily enough but, well, Arthur knew how to throw lawmen, other gangs, fucking Dutch and Hosea if he was willful enough. He would simply not be found unless he wanted to be found.

He’d just entered the open doors with a sigh and went for a saddle when he noticed the light in his precious little neglected stall had been lit and sitting there on the stool was Arthur’s journal.

Since Arthur’s return, John didn’t read the man’s diary, didn’t even try to sneak a peek. It felt, well it felt wrong to do so and even wrong before when he’d done it not knowing the man was alive. A part of him feared reading it now, but another feared not reading it more. Arthur didn’t leave his journal behind unless he had to or gave it away not intending to return. He glanced around noticing all three horses remained in their stalls, and that Thoroughbred didn’t even look like he was out to murder John right now. What if the man, his brother, his lover just walked away, left his journal behind and walked off into the darkness to never be seen again? And this time, this time it was all his fault. Tenderly John picked up the journal and thumbed to the last written page though is eyes lingered, briefly on the sketch of his cut up hands on the opposite page.

~John and I had an argument today. He thinks I see him like I saw Dutch, and it really upsets him. Dutch told me loyalty is love. Dutch showed me earning and giving money is affection, idleness is a betrayal. I don’t really know how to love John the way he wants to be loved. I sure as hell don’t know how to be loved by John the way he shows his love. I’m trying, real hard. I’m not used to failing like this.

~John probably used the gold in my satchel to help start this place, buy what he needed and got his cattle and just okay horses and all that. I don’t know how to tell him he doesn’t owe me for that, so I try to contribute like I started at zero, like the day I came here is zero in the ledger. After today, I’m wondering if that was not the right way to do it.

~John thinks I’m as much a dumb ass as he is. He doesn’t want me to sell that horse. He thinks I don’t know that. What he also doesn’t know is no horse has or will ever be more important to me than my family, than him. I’ll sell him, get good money, and one day find another to call mine for as long as I can manage.

~Need to write something that doesn’t start with the word John.

“Oh god, Arthur, what’ve I done?”

“About your usual.” Arthur’s reply startled him so badly he dropped the journal.

In a panic, John tried to bend suddenly to pick it up as if saving it from a dirty and muck filled stall in the midst of an appending winter and not the clean hay, perfectly fine and dry to sleep in stall that it was actually in. Arthur got there first though, picking up his journal and peering at John as if he studied him, and not the cold fury he expected to get from the man at having been caught reading his journal. “I thought, well I thought.”

“That your mouth chased me off?” Arthur carefully closed the flap and tucked it in his satchel. “That I’d just go off into the night and find a place to die, on foot?”

Yes, but John didn’t say it. He lifted his hand to the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for reading your journal. I thought you’d gone off, and if I was going to find you I’d, you know get a clue or something.”

“And.” Arthur stood tall again, peering at him with one of those hard expressions that made John guess at what the man might be thinking or feeling.

“And?”

“What else are you sorry for Marston?”

“Oh.” John felt like a kid again, in that moment, except Arthur wasn’t towering over him like back then, trying to teach him a lesson he barely understood. “For saying those things to you like I did. I didn’t mean to chase you off.”

“Your mouth has never chased me off, at least not for more than a night or two.”

“Like you said, everything is different now.” John murmured.

“Maybe not as different as I thought. Maybe more different than you thought.”

“Yeah.”

The awkward silence kind of started killing him. Arthur liked silence sometimes, but John didn’t know if this was a good time for that or if he should say something, Jesus anything to get rid of the heaviness. 

Arthur started though. “The camp got fifty percent. Half in and half mine. I don’t want to be paid wages from you like I am some sort of hired hand John. It makes me feel cheap.”

“Cheap?” John didn’t understand and this time he had no intention of hiding that fact.

“I saw a lot off men, defending buildings, working land, even hauling and stuff in factories for rich men they might never meet or never hear a kind word from. If you start handing me money like that, I’ll feel like I am working for you or a whore.”

John snorted back a laugh. Oh he didn’t need Arthur’s fierce glare to tell him it was the wrong reaction to show. He knew it immediately, but that look told him he should at least try to explain himself. “You, a whore Arthur. That…”

“What?” Arthur demanded.

“You’d be the poorest damn whore this side of any river or ocean.”

The glare deepened. “Is that a complaint Marston?”

“Well, to be honest, it kind of is. We certainly don’t go at it often enough to keep a two dollar whore fed, and before you start yelling at me about saying two dollars I feel I ought to remind you you were the one that mentioned two dollar whores first.”

Arthur’s lips pursed. “You have the worst apologies I’ve ever heard John Marston.”

John rolled his eyes, but the sort of familiar sensation he felt about how and where this argument might be heading gave him a bit of confidence. “You didn’t sleep with anyone for years, and then you spend a few nights with me and suddenly you’re talking about being a whore. I slept with more people as a boy then you have as a man. How the hell can you possibly think of yourself as a whore Arthur? Jesus those women really did a number on you.” He needed to make sure Arthur really understood this point so he moved in closer, only slightly wary that he entered easy punching territory, and was not exactly taking a stance to avoid an unexpected swing. Carefully John ran his finger up Arthur’s arms. “I’m sure you’ve visited a whore or few, but Arthur you don’t really bed people you don’t care about. There is nothing cheap or easy or whorish about you even if…”

The older man’s brows rose slightly in question.

“Even if you think creativity in bed is meant only for that profession.”

Arthur’s expression didn’t exactly change, and John felt a little uneasy about what the man might say next. “Profession. That’s a big word for it coming from you.”

“Oh fuck you Morgan.” John’s response came without thought or effort. And when the both of them wound up smiling, well he knew they were at least out of the woods at this point even if he didn’t know exactly where they were going. 

“I went for a walk.” Arthur explained after a moment. “I was writing, and getting angry, so I went for a walk.”

John nodded. “Okay. Well let’s get back inside. We can settle down and…”

“No.”

“No?”

“I think I’ll stay in the stall tonight.”

John’s heart sank.

“And I want you to stay with me.”


	3. Chapter 3 - Earned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John does his best to make sure they end the day in a good way. It's a struggle, and yeah, John often has one thing on his mind despite how big of a heart he really has.

John opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again. His mind tried to puzzle out what this might mean. Arthur didn’t like having sex if there was even a tiny chance Abigail or Jack might hear them. He worked hard for that house, and it was pretty good size but, well… he’d ransacked enough of those places to know they were not much better than a hotel room when it came to muffling nearby sounds. Course he didn’t really tell Arthur Abigail felt they shouldn’t have fun until both Arthur and Jack fell asleep too, so between the two of them it seemed like he was really pushing, all the time, for just a little attention which seemed absurd for a man who had two actual, in the flesh lovers. There were moments he just wanted to shout at both of them, scream even, that they all used to live in camps where they might be lucky if they had a sheet of cloth for privacy. How the hell did they wind up so concerned about walls now? Okay. Calm yourself Marston. Any minute now he might be blowing a chance to get to roll in actual hay with Arthur Morgan, and maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of him tried to remind himself there were more important things going on here than sex.

“John.” Arthur drew him back to the here and now suddenly. “You’re just standing there like you haven’t got a brain to respond with.”

“Sorry.” John cleared his throat. “I’m just uhh, trying to see if I should get my hopes up.”

“For what?” Arthur pushed. 

Oh he knew. John saw it right there, like two shining diamonds, that glint that teased but maybe also tested. “I’ve put some effort into that stall you know.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“New blankets, cleaned and fresh smelling, a bale of hay, and even a pillow.”

“I said I noticed.” Arthur kept a straight face, and damn if the man’s poker expression left John feeling a little off-center.

“I’m just really excited Arthur.”

A slight frown formed and the man sort of gave him this look, like he was trying to understand why John felt the way he did. “It’s only been a few days Marston.”

“More like maybe four or five.”

“Less than a week.”

“I’m still a young man Arthur. I need sex more often than I want food.”

Arthur’s brows rose, and he laughed, a deep rumbling sound that seemed, well it reminded him of the old Arthur, before everything went to shit, people were dying and their leader left his brains spilled on a road somewhere. He managed to quiet down after a moment. “I suppose we’re not really getting together real natural like. You’re always planning these, well these things and now after a fight...”

“Some of my best nights were after fights.” John hoped he didn’t look as encouraged as he felt. He bickered enough with the two of them that if they wound up going at it after each one, well… it might make for a worthwhile winter since there wasn’t much hope of getting away from each other when the snow came in, at least not for long. He knew Arthur was fine pitching a tent in snow, but he hoped the man planned on taking to bed instead. 

“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s a terrible idea.” Arthur cautioned.

“You can’t know what I’m thinking.”

“We fought awful bad when first starting off. I don’t think we want to go back to that.”

“Oh you were just a moody ass that didn’t like having attention taken from you.”

“And you were a snotty little kid challenging everyone and everything, trying to see if we were ready to up and leave you at a moment’s notice like you expected us to.”

“You never did.”

“Oh I was tempted.”

John carefully removed the man’s brown hat. “You never would’ve left me as a kid. You didn’t even do that to me as a man.”

“Oh I would.” Arthur corrected. “But I would’ve come back.” 

John toyed with the brown hat turning it in his hand, feeling the weight of it and the quality. “Where’d you get this old rodeo hat anyway?”

“From a man who won’t be needing it anymore.”

“You kill him?”

Arthur’s eyes shifted between John’s eyes and his constantly moving fingers. “I thought you said you didn’t like people asking questions they already know the answer to.”

“Why’d you kill him then?”

“He took a shot at me and missed. I’m not as bad a shot. Didn’t seem to count against me.”

“Count?” John tossed the hat into the corner of the stall. He removed Arthur’s old hat, his precious hat, and tossed it in there alongside it. “In your condition you won a gun fight? You looked damn near starved to death when you got here.”

“In my condition, an idiot with gun tried to kill me. Guess he didn’t know I’m not an idiot.” 

“And a damn good shot.” John whispered. Arthur didn’t explain the counting, so he let is drop, for now.

Arthur nodded. 

“Not as quick as me.”

“Not as quick as you.” Arthur considered him for a moment. “The next time you go snooping through my journal, I’m going to have to beat you unconscious.”

John huffed a brief laugh although honestly he couldn’t tell if his lover was kidding or not. “You know Arthur, I ain’t saying you have to tell me everything you write in that journal of yours, but it might be easier if you shared some of it with others, with me.”

Arthur walked fully into the stall and took a seat, resting his back against the wall. “Don’t see how that would help anyone.”

John joined him, sitting real close. “I miss Sean too. He was a loud mouth, a braggart, and talked too much about skills he didn’t actually have but… it didn’t seem like we had any time for his death, with Jack being taken and the Pinkertons showing up.”

Arthur nodded.

“And then Lenny and Hosea.” John released a nervous laugh. “Sometimes I wonder if you and I were their longest con. Sold us real good on a dream we weren’t ever going to have, running from the future like we could ever win that race.”

“Hosea loved you John.” Arthur assured softly. “And I think he loved me too. And yeah, he got us caught up in some real nasty business killing a lot of people for nothing then gettin killed for not a lot of reasons, but he weren’t like Dutch. If he told you something it’s because he believed it John. He would’ve been real happy to see you settle here with your family.” Arthur gave a weak smile. “Especially knowing I was with yah.”

“He loved you Arthur. You were right about that, and I would’ve cried with you if I knew it was okay.”

Light eyes flickered in his direction. “Okay?”

“Oh get off it Arthur. You know it wasn’t real good to show weakness in that gang. I just… I just didn’t know you were okay with it until recently. I always wanted you to see me as more than I was, better than I am. You know... strong like you. If you ain’t showing it then neither was I.”

“Crying?” Arthur still seemed surprised. 

He gave a brief nod. “I’ve done it a few times already since you’ve been back, and you haven’t made fun and nothing about it. And then you know, when I joined you in bed.”

Naturally the older man stiffened immediately. A shadow cast across his face, and John knew instantly Arthur didn’t want to talk about it, maybe even try and pretend that it didn’t happen. Except instead of pushing it off or standing to find something to busy himself with, a strong hand reached over and covered John’s, squeezing gently. “You’ve always been a talker John. I never really was. I ain’t even good with the little stuff, the things that aren’t important. You wanting to talk about these things more… I just don’t know.” 

“You’re not failing.” John blurted. It just sort of fell out his mouth and confirmed what they both already knew, that he’d read the last entries Arthur put in his journal. “Just, you know, struggling some. We both are.”

“John…”

“I’m serious Arthur. You’ve shown me more trust than ever, not just with the things you’ve told me but the things you let me do to you, with you, and, and then that. It’s true. I don’t always understand what everyone is telling me or why, or how come some folks get so frustrated with me when I just do what I think is going to work out, but I understand that. I understand you trusting me being all vulnerable like that is hard, real hard for you. It means a lot to me Arthur that you do. And I just don’t see how us trusting each other, being together, and trying to live this life like we are is failing.”

“Damn it John. I just wanted to sleep out here tonight, just listen to the horses, feel the cold air, and talk a little.” Arthur shook his head with a frown.

John peered at him questioningly. “And now?”

“Now I’m going to have to have sex with you too.”

“Cause I earned it?”

Arthur rose his brow ever so slightly. “And you can un-earn it just as quickly.”

John turned, placed a hand on Arthur’s knee and leaned in for a gentle kiss. “Your threats don’t carry nearly as much weight as they used to.”

“And why’s that John?” Arthur asked, resting an arm on his knee and just sort of looking at John with the curiosity he imagined a dog might have. He didn’t exactly return the kiss either although Arthur didn’t actually pull away.

“Well…” John withdrew slightly. “You’ve threatened me a few times over the last few weeks, but you haven’t really followed through.”

“So if I gave you a good beating right now you’d believe me again?”

John smirked. “I don’t know who you are trying to fool. I don’t believe for one minute Arthur Morgan tends to keep his lovers in-line with threats of violence.”

“They were women. You’re not.” Arthur huffed.

“So if I put on a dress you won’t give me a shiner? I mean, a black-eye isn’t really going to improve my ugly face. Who knows? Maybe a pretty dress will.” John gave the man a wide grin, trying, pushing to get a smile in return.

Arthur ran his free hand down his face and sighed wearily. “You’re something else John. I told you before, you ain’t ugly.”

John kissed a covered shoulder and pressed his left hand against the man’s chest. “Is that why you have such a hard time looking at me when we’re intimate, because I’m so handsome?”

“You know that ain’t it.” Arthur objected quietly although again he didn’t pull away and just turned his head to focus on the stalls nearby wall. 

John wasn’t about to let Arthur dissuade him so easily though; after all, Arthur said he wanted John here even if he pushed a little back against the idea now. John moved his lips upward and found the light red spot he left tastelessly bright red before and suckled gently. 

“John…” Arthur whispered quietly with neither an objection nor encouragement behind the name.

“Tell me you want it Arthur. Tell me I’m not alone in wanting this.” John whispered against the man’s neck.

“John I can’t.” Arthur sullenly whispered.

John ran his fingers down Arthur’s chest and paused near his navel while he moved his lips to kiss and whisper against Arthur’s ear. “Arthur you are not less a man for wanting, for desiring what you do and actually going for it.”

Arthur turned and met John’s lips, ensuing a brief kiss before he rested his forehead upon the younger man’s shoulder. “Why push this John? You know this is, is hard for me.”

John raised his hand from Arthur’s grip and gently traced jawline. “Because you’re afraid Arthur. The man who gave me everything, who sacrificed everything, faced all sorts of death head-on, and you are afraid, even now, with me, with your John, your lover.” He pleaded, quietly it seemed, for Arthur to trust him and to trust himself. 

“John, it’s too bright. It’s too…” Arthur took a deep breath and then another. 

At this point John realized his companion tried to calm himself, to rein in a whirlwind of emotions. “No, Arthur, please… don’t shutdown, not like that. Please.” John stroked the thick and short blonde hair and clutched Arthur tight against him, and he knew he begged this time and felt not a moment of shame in admitting it too. “Tell me.”

Arthur took a few more deep breaths. “If I’m weak I’m worthless. I can’t earn, can’t fight, can’t kill… can’t be… loved. There’s no place for me if I give you what you want John.”

“There might not be a place in this world left for Dutch van der Linde’s enforcer and most valuable son Arthur Morgan the outlaw, once one of the most wanted men in this part of the country, but there is a place for Arthur Morgan, John Marston’s lover, Jack’s uncle, friend to Abigail, Sadie and Charles and tamer of too damned spirited horses.” John carefully stood, bringing Arthur up with him with just a few suggested tugs. As soon as Arthur lifted his head from John’s shoulder, John kissed him again and continued with a soft tone. “Your strength is not based on what you put in a fucking tin. It’s not whether or not you could make Dutch’s or even Hosea’s crazy ideas work, and it’s not reliant on what you know or don’t know about sex. And no matter how much money I can or can’t give you Arthur, I won’t be paying you your worth. There ain’t enough gold bars in the world to cover that. I just don’t… I don’t have the right words is all to tell you all this and make you believe me. I can’t do speeches worth a damn or really explain myself so you stop, stop hurting like you are.” John ran his tongue lightly along his bottom lip. 

Light blue eyes revealed themselves and returned John’s gaze. “You have the right words John. I just ain’t hearing them like I should all the times you say it.”

John dropped his hands to Arthur’s shoulders, feeling the tension there and immediately began to massage the area where his neck and shoulders joined, trying to ease the tightness as he spoke. “Because I told you I love you?”

“And that you’re in love with me.”

“But only sometimes when I say that you believe me.”

“That too.” Arthur paused, his cheeks reddened, and he finally answered John’s plea. “I, I do want it John. I enjoy being with you. I like it when you are in control, when you push me to do things that, that confuse and embarrass me or even frighten me. It always feels good in the end and, well sometimes, the pain too, only a little though not like…”

“Not like what Arthur?” John encouraged. When Arthur didn’t continue, John decided he might understand already. “Not a lot of pain, no walking away. I ain’t like those other guys Arthur. I ain’t ever walking away after we’re together.” John smiled briefly and felt his heart fill when Arthur returned his smile.

“I’m getting used to this John. Warm blankets, a bed and knowing where I’ll sleep each night. Coming home and not…” Arthur’s eyes dropped to the hay covered floor. “And not wondering if I brought enough with me to feel like it’s okay to breathe for a minute, or if I need to move bales of hay or bags of grain or chop wood anything really, just something more to just earn rest, just a few hours of rest. The truth is John I don’t know settling was ever really in my blood, and now that I am, settling here with you, with my family, I’m just afraid I can’t ever go back, even if I need to.” His eyes lifted again to meet John’s gaze. “If I come home to three crosses…”

John began to unbutton Arthur’s shirt, one at a time, real slow like. “It’s not easy for me either Arthur. I feel it sometimes, that need, the cold blood ready to grab a horse and hunt Micah down for all he took from us, for what he cost us. Our family turned on us Arthur, and damned if I want them to pay for that. And then I think about Abigail and about Jack and about… you. And maybe it ain’t right to say so because every morning I get to see Jack do something smart and a dozen things dumb, and Abigail really is one of the worst cooks out there, but she smiles at me more often than not these days, and she just seems happy but really Arthur...” He slipped the suspenders off Arthur shoulders and then eased the shirt off. “But mostly when I feel that bug wanting me to go out I remember you’re right here with me, struggling right alongside me. You think bout ten years less in the life means I’ve got a better chance, but you’re wrong.” His fingers soon traveled over bare shoulders and upper-arms, fingers admiring the muscles and of course the scars found there. “You gave me a chance to start a ranch, be with my family but staying on this path… I need you with me Arthur, failures and all. At least you know what I am going through. And I promise you this, whether you let yourself be happy now, with us, with me, won’t change how your heart will feel if we can’t be with you anymore. You’ll just wind up with fewer regrets because you won’t need to wonder what it might have been like because you already know what it’s like with me.”

Arthur’s eyes immediately flickered to the oil lantern sitting brightly on the nearby stool. John knew his lover wanted to ask again, saw the fight play out before his eyes, but Arthur didn’t ask. Instead the brawnier man brushed aside John’s exploring hands so he could make short work of John’s shirt too. “I never liked it.” Arthur murmured as he dropped John’s shirt to the ground.

“The killing?” John asked.

“The killing, the cons, the robbing.”

“You were real good at it for not liking it.”

Arthur smiled. “Yeah, yeah I guess so. When Colm had me, hanging me there like some sort of carcass to beat and torment until he caught Dutch I still asked him to put an end to the feud. It was stupid really. A man who does that to me, what he did to Kieran… was never going to let-up.”

With his shirt gone, John decided to focus on Arthur’s jeans. “You ever tell Dutch that?” He received a light laugh for his question. 

“I don’t even know why Dutch went to that parley. It was never going to happen, and he’d think me a fool for even thinking it… I guess he thought I was pretty stupid in the end anyway. I was a damned fool, believing him. I deserved what I had coming to me, don’t know why I got another chance.”

“Wanting to protect the people you love doesn’t make you stupid Arthur. It just means you love them.” John stopped his pursuit to get Arthur naked before him and gave the man a slow kiss, more than a little thrilled his partner allowed himself to be drawn into it, their heartbeats slowing and tongues leisurely playing with one another. Still he had enough control to make at least an offer he knew he had to make. “Arthur we can stop right now, just lie the blankets down and rest for the night. We don’t have to go any further than this. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe you everything. I’m here because of you.” Arthur corrected softy. “And I want to remember this day by being with you John.”

“Okay.” John remained mostly quiet as he made short work of Arthur’s pants and then his own, then came the undergarments and boots and socks until both men stood naked in John’s precious stall which he really considered to be Arthur’s.

John walked to Arthur’s side, planted a short and wet kiss against the man’s naked shoulder and then went to work, grabbing two of the blankets to lay carefully on the hay covered floor. Next came the pillow and then the other two blankets, the nice ones, were left folded nearby. He paired those with two beers. He forgot the bottle of whiskey inside. It might be Arthur’s favorite, or at least he thought it was, but for now they’d have to suffice with what they had. When he turned to look at Arthur he noticed the man watched him, looking a little uncertain, and of course he shied away a bit when John’s eyes moved to his naked form. God, he loved that. It seemed unfair, maybe even a little cruel, but seeing Arthur blush and sort of look away, it was just too damn hot not to feel excited by that. Arthur Morgan, a man of incredible strength, conviction, lethal in almost every way, became quiet and shy just for him. Okay, maybe not just for him, but he suspected he’d never done that with any of the ladies, and John felt damn sure no other man would get a chance with Arthur, not if they intended to live to see the next day anyway. He offered Arthur a hand. “Come on Arthur, let me help you down.”

“Don’t need help.” Came the blunt reply. Arthur still accepted the offer though, so John helped him down, get real comfortable on the blankets and aligned the pillow just right but he didn’t join his lover, not right away, and Arthur seemed nervous about that.

“John?”

“Just give me a moment.” He replied.

“To what?” Arthur demanded.

“To look.”

Arthur looked away again, his cheeks reddened and his hands looked like they were about to cover his hardening cock, but they stalled near his hip instead.

John almost reminded him about the rules, about closing his eyes or looking at each other, except he realized this still seemed like progress, and the fact the man kept his hands where they were, well that was something else, something worthwhile. “You ever look at other men before?”

Dark eyes moved from the nearby wall back to John. “Not in the way you mean it. You?”

John shrugged. “Yeah, but I told you, I wasn’t sure I liked men so much as I just want you.”

Arthur sighed and focused on the ceiling next. John understood the man wasn’t ready to accept that answer, but Arthur might, one day. “How long are you going to look John? I thought you were excited.”

Fun. John thought. Arthur tried to goad him into getting to the sex faster. This had to be a first, and he wasn’t exactly against this development. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing you lying naked like this, eager and ready for me.”

Arthur’s fingers curled, but didn’t form full fists. His cock twitched eagerly enough, half-hard in anticipation, a little fuller now. His lover didn’t seem to trust himself enough say anything in response.

“You like it right? Don’t you want to do it more often?”

Dark eyes flickered back to him again, and this time the words that came out were tense and biting, enough so to stimulate a tingling sensation up John’s back. “You’re going to lose out on one more opportunity if you don’t get over here and stop messing around Marston.”

John smiled briefly. He did hope to be able to just gaze at too handsome and peaceful Arthur Morgan one day, hopefully soon, but being on a last name basis already meant his time might actually be cut-short any minute now. Still wearing a smile, and nothing else, John kneeled down by his lover and went in quickly for a kiss, but he stopped short just to see that thing Arthur did, where he lifted his chin, opened his mouth and waited, too long even, for John to proceed which he eventually did. 

When their lips parted and John peered down at Arthur, who looked almost relaxed, almost at ease with someone he’d been with a few times already, John ran his tongue along his slightly puffy lips; Arthur kissed well, and that seemed right, seemed like something the man would enjoy enough to want to get good at.

“I, I do like sex John.” Arthur whispered. “It just don’t feel right coming to you and asking… for it.”

John ran a finger slowly down the center of Arthur’s chest, splaying his fingers once he reached hardened muscle and pausing to trace a knife scar and a few other less defined pale or pink marks marring the skin. He liked him this way of course, not the pain that must have come with each disfigurement, especially the ones that left scars not seen by the eye, but the hardiness of it, the strength and the testament to Arthur’s tough life. “How does it feel now?” He asked softly.

Light eyes flickered to the oil lantern sitting on the stool and then settled on John’s face. “I enjoy being with you John, but the light makes me nervous… ashamed.” The man’s brow furrowed briefly, and when Arthur looked away it wasn’t due to shyness and light uncertainty but probably the kind of shame that curdled a man’s stomach.

This time John couldn’t tell what Arthur focused on, but he had an idea that might help, at least for now. He reached across Arthur and grabbed a neatly folded blanket, a good-sized one too, and opened it. Within a minute he managed to cover the bulk of Arthur’s body with it and then lied underneath the thick blanket with him. “How about now?” He was rewarded with the attention of two beautiful eyes and a quick nod. Lazily, and with renewed confidence that Arthur became comfortable enough for him to continue, John resumed his caresses, this time following the outline of the pelvic bone and hip muscles down near his groin without actually touching him where he imagined the flesh hardened even more. “You never shied away from bathing in a river or a lake, even a stream. I know. I was there for a number of them.”

Arthur sat-up and turned towards John, the blanket armor seemed to draw the man John knew best again although he hoped his sweet and shy lover lingered not far behind. “At the rate you avoided baths not even most of them but that’s, that’s different. There’s a purpose to that, a need, and well a politeness. You-all wouldn’t want me coming back bloody and stinking.”

“A man that can’t swim kind of avoids water Arthur, no big secret there.” John leaned forward and planted a real quick and sneaky, at least in his mind, kiss against those moving lips, treasuring the hint of a southern drawl that sometimes came naturally to the blonde and other times it just seemed to vanish. “You seem more relaxed now. Is it working?”

Arthur’s eyes dipped down, but only briefly. “Yeah, yeah it is John.”

John smiled. He couldn’t help it. Maybe he smiled too often, laughed too readily, but right now seeing his lover, seeing Arthur just sort of release some of the uneasy tension just made him too damn happy not to respond to it. “You like being warm under blankets. Seems kind of odd for a man who spent so many nights sleeping on a cot, bedroll or actual bed without anything on him.”

“Getting too comfortable is a good way to die John.”

“Or maybe you just didn’t feel like asking for more than the bare minimum, asking for what you wanted instead of just what you reasoned was needed.”

And just like that, the ease and almost relaxed Arthur tensed up, started constructing a box around himself again. “We gonna do this Marston or are you going to keep yipping?”

Last name again so John decided it was time to hurry this long, just in case. “You don’t have to look at me tonight Arthur. I want you to rollover, rest your forearms against the blankets under you and then move to your knees.” Not too surprisingly, the older man followed his instructions to the letter. “Now spread your thighs, keep a good balance… good. Now just a minute.” John would’ve liked to see this stance, get a good view of the man with his legs spread, ass up a little and balls between his legs, but it was all hidden unless he abandoned the blankets that gave his beloved a false sense of security. Beloved… had he ever thought of him in that way before… maybe. Focus. Small steps with big ones, so John didn’t push the matter and instead retrieved his nearby and ready jar to slick himself up. It was cold, being out here in the stables like that, enough to make him hiss lowly against the chill of it. He did spend some time warming it up on his palm before he used one hand to grab Arthur’s hip to still him. Then John spread Arthur’s ass cheeks and carefully worked his fingers inside the heated warmth. He wanted this to go pretty smoothly because Arthur wouldn’t see him this time, so with each additional digit he spent minutes just stretching and turning the tight entrance. By the time he added this third fingers, turned and scissored inside his lover’s heated body, John heard Arthur pant just a little and a shudder of pleasure traveled throughout the man’s entire body. Oh Arthur was eager for this all right. No way he was about to stop it just because John annoyed him a little.

Here we go. 

John might have said that out loud, or maybe not. He placed a hand against Arthur’s side again, gripped his hard cock and pressed against Arthur’s readied entrance, moaning too loudly as he entered the man ever so cautiously. “Easy boy.” He murmured.

“John…”

He paused, feeling the inner, hot muscles squeezing around just the tip of his eager flesh once he popped in past the puckered entry. “Too fast?” He teased.

“Hurry the hell up.” Arthur growled at him.

John thrust forward, hard and fast, drawing a sharp gasp from Arthur. The older man dropped his head, and for a moment John tried to ignore the hot, slick inner walls quivering around him so tightly, so he could check on his lover. When Arthur didn’t say anything he withdrew his hand from between their bodies, leaned over and placed a palm against the right, exposed shoulder. 

“S’Okay John.” Arthur murmured, trying to provide assurance as if he just knew what John needed to hear, even if the man’s voice seemed strained.

John would’ve liked it better if he could see Arthur’s face, read his expression and respond to it accordingly. Instead he took his lover’s word for it and began to move, slowly at first but steady, pulling nearly all the way out and easing back in. It felt, well it felt like it did the first time, incredible and tight, a burning tunnel of contracting muscles inside a hardened, sturdy body. He almost understood Dutch’s frequent obsession with Arthur, to have someone so powerful, so competent and so special at his command, his mercy even… it only intensified the pleasure. Unlike that asshole though, John didn’t intend to abuse his new found powers. After all, he loved Arthur, owed him more than his meager life even. 

Gradually John sped up, rocking his hips, thrusting in and out while allowing his mind to nearly be consumed by the pleasure he felt, the specific sensation of hard muscle meeting beefy thighs though he held just a tiny portion of mindfulness to listen to Arthur’s responses. The man breathed heavily, groaned occasionally but managed to lessen the tension near his lower back as he held himself upward for John. The blonde eventually turned his head to the right, allowing John a partial glimpse of his expression, his eyes squeezed tightly closed and his mouth open, an almost serene look, at least as close to one he’d seen when the man didn’t write in his journal or just enjoy long rides. Arthur enjoyed it all right, even if he fought against the pleasure just a little, tried to hold back the feelings inside him and not allow himself to unravel before John’s eyes, or at least that’s what John believed. “It’s okay Old Boy. Just you and me and a few horses. You can let go. I promise you won’t be less for it.”

Powerful fingers dug into the blanket covered hay, and Arthur dropped his head again. A heated sound, something guttural and powerful that bordered on seeming painful escaped the older man’s lips. John kept going, thrusting harder and a little faster, relying on his lover to tell him to stop or change if he needed it. John adjusted his angle slightly, knowing he did so just right when his lover bucked slightly, that inner point of pleasure clearly found and stimulated. 

“Easy.” John whispered.

“John…” Arthur muttered lowly, his voice deep and soft and colored with just a hint of desperation. 

“Don’t you want this more often Arthur? Wouldn’t it be nice to enjoy throughout the winter?”

“Sometimes you’re just an asshole.” 

There wasn’t any bite behind those murmured words, so John had a good feeling about what would come next.

“Yes John, I want it more, want you… more.”

Arthur struggled with speaking clearly, probably because John decided to give his lover a good bit of ramming, loving how the shoulders and back, even the man’s thighs tightened up, but only for a moment and not from stress or uncertainty but the mingled chaos of pleasure and pain together. The man was too untried not feel some discomfort, some hurt, but he bore it well, grunted too often in pleasure and bucked again which meant he was still enjoying it, all of it. God, John thought, and he felt so good too, nothing like the men before him. Maybe, just maybe the fact he loved Arthur so much combined with a deep desire to see him disentangle fully, yet at the same time intended kill anyone who might dare hurt him again… it was nearly all too overwhelming. “Are you close Arthur?” John sure as hell was, but he had to make sure he didn’t get there too far ahead of his partner.

“Yeah John.” The man growled, and that sent rivulets of pleasure up John’s spine. 

One. Two. Three more thrusts and he gripped Arthur tightly, likely to leave bruises for a few days, and released deep inside his lover, holding still himself and growling just a bit like the wolves he feared. When John came down from the peak of his release, he realized Arthur must have found release too at some point because he reached around and the man’s hips and found a moist but limp cock. Damn it. He missed it entirely. John leaned over, chuckled, and whispered to him softly. “Next time. I want to hear you Arthur, all of you, no holding back in here.”

Arthur simply nodded.

Carefully John withdrew, spent and exhausted. He took a minute or two to let the heat release his mind and body so he could react properly, moving alongside Arthur to kiss his upper-arm and temple before carefully maneuvering away the blanket directly under them and use it to cleanse them both, with the help of a nearby water pail. By the time he set the dirtied blanket aside, Arthur already lied down on the remaining blanket, his head pressed against the old pillow. John grinned down at him and grabbed the extra blankets since it was cold, and he knew Arthur preferred warmness. John wiggled his way under their double barrier against the rising cold and pressed his cheek against the man’s exposed shoulder. A powerful and heartfelt arm wrapped around him, and instantly John felt safe and grateful, so grateful to have Arthur here to hold him. 

Arthur grabbed a beer, with his free hand, opened it and drank somehow without spilling it all over John; then Arthur stroked his dark and thin hair as he finished the beer. “When you were a boy, you used to come into my tent without inviting. I’d get so mad at you, dragging your mud all over the place, touching my stuff, and not putting it back just right.”

John snickered. “Well you had a lot of interesting stuff back then, always coming back with things in your satchel, and sometimes just setting it on your little table. I liked looking at your new guns too, and you never really chased me away except that one time.” That one time when something awful happened although John wasn’t really sure which event that had been, only that Arthur seemed so mad and so sad at the same time not even Hosea could get near him without a violent outburst.

“And then you stopped.” Arthur whispered with a weird since of sadness in his tone.

“I wanted to pretend I was older, more mature… still got scared though. I didn’t know the sounds of night like I do now.” John felt the need to explain, to chase away any made-up demons the older man created in his head to explain why John stopped instead of just asking him those years ago.

Arthur smiled and kissed his brow. “I know you got a little jumpy during your watch duties at night.”

John huffed. “You could’ve just called out further in advance as you came in and more often too. There be nothing worse I can think of than shooting Arthur Morgan as he came back to camp. I was always worried I’d screw up, like I usually do I guess.”

“Nothing usual about it John. We just ragged on you because you reacted so strongly to it, or at least I did. You’s was just young, not really useless.” Arthur chucked lowly. The humor left his voice as he continued. “You said you slept with more people as boy than I did as a man. Were they…”

“Best talk about that another night Arthur, but you already know the answer. Just know that before Dutch, Hosea… you, I didn’t think much of other people. In fact I mostly hated everyone I came across. I hate him sometimes, so much, for what he did, for what he let slip away and instead of saving our family just, just letting all that happen, but he taught me a lot Arthur. Lenny, Javier, Charles, heck even Sean, you know it never occurred to me to treat them different, not like I saw other folk treat them. Dutch taught me that.” John paused. “Charles helped me with this place. Sadie stopped by once. She writes sometimes, and I write her back. I don’t really know where Charles went off to but… I’d like to tell them you’re here. I think they’d like to see you. I think they’ll come back someday.”

Arthur dropped his hand from John’s hair to his shoulder and traced slow circles there. “How come you didn’t tell them?”

“You weren’t ready for it.”

“And you think I am now?”

“As good as you’ll be for a while.” John answered honestly, and he felt Arthur smile in response.

“Okay.” Arthur consented. “You really feel safe in my arms John?”

John nodded and closed his eyes. “Never felt safer than when you’re around me.”

“John.”

“Hmm?” He asked sleepily, already easing into a light doze. 

“You ain’t ugly.”

“You think I’m attractive?”

“I think you’re everything to me.” Arthur whispered.

“Yeah, well this everything wants you to have a little something now and then so please, please just let me do that. It would mean a whole lot to me to know I’m able to do right by you. I can even just put it in your room, no talking about it just… do it when you’re not there.”

Arthur drew a deep breath and squeezed him with that large protective arm around him. “Okay John. Just don’t… don’t overdo it or make it too regular like… and let me sell that horse.”

John didn’t respond about the horse, but he went to sleep with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you enjoyed this little piece. I'll probably add to this series more as specific scenes come to me. I didn't make it one big piece because I knew they would be disjointed but still hopefully connected enough to feel continuous in some ways.


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